The Sex Diaries was inspired by New York Magazine’s long-standing Sex Diary column.
6:15 am I’m looking down at my phone as I get ready for work, staring at the nudes my beautiful girlfriend sent me the previous night. The curve of her hips under the sheer lace, red dress I bought her a few weeks earlier is truly one work of art. I think of her scent when I sometimes kneel down to kiss her on the edge of the bed before we “make love” as she likes to call it—just thinking about it gets me so fucking hard each time. I wish she could just make up some shit to her conservative Egyptian parents about needing to move out with some girlfriend and instead come live with me, that would be so damn good. Obviously it will never happen.
6:35 am I put down my ironed, designer label dress pants on the bed before I head to the restroom to jerk off. The thoughts of her, and the photos, are too intense. I rub myself while watching a video we made together on my phone once, where she sucked me off on my balcony one night. Damn, she’s sexy as hell.
7:15 am In the car, driving to work while sipping my coffee. I relax into the front seat—man, coming first thing in the morning is real good. I put my coffee down to dial my girlfriend’s number and I wait for her to pick up as I connect the phone to the car’s Bluetooth. It rings a few times, but my call is unanswered.
8:00 am I settle down at the office, a bit bummed that I haven’t heard her sexy, singsong voice yet. I work in consulting, which is super hectic, but I still set aside at least 20 minutes for us to chat every morning.
10:15 am I try calling her a couple of times again. Nothing.
2:00 pm Still nothing. At this point, it’s safe to assume that something very strange is up. Did she lose her phone? Forget it somewhere? Get kidnapped? Did something happen to someone in her family? Why wouldn’t she even text? Is she mad at me for slut-shaming one of her friends for wearing that ugly, and well, pretty sluty tank top the other day? I’d swear I was only kidding. I have half a mind to leave work early under the guise of a “family emergency” to drive to her place, until she texts, Sorry baby, fell asleep at James’!! My fingers freeze and I feel numb as I read the rest of her bullshit, I was so tired!! Are you free? What a whore.
2:01-2:10 pm I put the phone down, get out of my chair, and try to calm down. Long, deep breathing. I look away from the computer and out the window to the views of the Nile, the jammed corniche, my reflection in the tinted glass. Even so high above this miserable city, even in the circles of privilege I experienced throughout my life, I see the despondence of those wretched, struggling far from us, barely making it. Putting enough food on the table or making ends meet seems impossible amid perpetually skyrocketing inflation each year, so they work several jobs till they tire or they manipulate, cheat, and steal. This is how the 99% is conditioned to be…
My parents are both considerably famous public figures who always had busy careers. Newspaper headlines cast them as corrupt, and our family always got a lot of media attention. Half of the media claims are lies, and we’ve always been a close family despite the stresses a near-celebrity status presents. From the age of 13, my father sent me to boarding schools in the U.K. so I would be out of the public eye—and I have. The newspapers have since forgotten about me, and barely noticed my return after I got my masters’ degree two years back. But I have to say, dealing with how people here have become, their intolerable lifestyle, commoners’ Wahhabi-influenced mindsets, their petty gossip and lack of work ethic is draining. That’s not to mention how fucking filthy everything is.
2:11 pm My thoughts are interrupted by my phone vibrating. Several calls from her. Twelve in total, actually, reads the call log. After a short pause, the phone starts ringing again. Her. Fine. Let’s do this.
“I’m really sorry, habibi, I fell asleep at James’ after the party last night—“
I cut off her pathetic panting in uncontrollable laughter, still low enough that it can’t be heard too far from my cubicle.
“What?” She still pants, in what I find to be faked frustration.
“Kossomek,” I snap in rage, before hanging up. I need to figure out where this James person lives and beat the shit out of him. I don’t look at my phone. I’m about to tear up but I hold it back, put my phone on airplane mode, and focus on work.
3:00pm-8:00 pm Meetings, presentations, e-mails. Not much else.
10:00 pm Sleep. I put airplane mode on so I can rest deeply.
5:30 am Up for an early morning swim. I keep my phone charging while I throw everything I’ll need later in an Adidas duffle bag, before the device begins buzzing with notifications of messages and calls I’ve received throughout the night. And, expectedly, she calls again, for who knows, maybe the twentieth time. I pick up and respond between clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, okay? I swear I didn’t mean to ignore you and I really was just tired after that party…”
Her pettiness is ludicrous. I’m about to tell her that, but instead I say, “you were out of breath when I called—“
“No, no, maybe I was just tired or something,” she’s rushing her sentences, “but I just fell asleep on the couch, at like, five in the morning, and I didn’t want to wake you to tell you and…”
I’m not really listening after this point. Her voice is so sweet, so endearing, but I can’t. I know she isn’t sincere. I just do. “Why should I believe you?”
“Because I love you,” she begs.
“And that’s why you fucked James. Or, no, sorry, you merely happened to be out of breath in the middle of the afternoon when you woke up at some guy’s place you’ve only met, like four times.”
“Baby, I swear, it’s not what you think… And I keep telling you, I’ve known him for years—“ she hesitates as she speaks now, just the confirmation I need.
My chest feels tight, and my hands, numb. “I have to go. Leave me alone, please.” I hang up.
6:00am-6:15 am I ditch the swimming plan to drink a beer in the living room. I think of the first time we exchanged “I love you”s and her warm smile when we cuddle. I remember her scent, and how just imagining it drives me mad every single time. And my mind wanders to when her deception could have started. Were there other things she lied to me about? She’s been sleeping with James, I’m sure of it. The way she always tried to make it seem like their circles have overlapped since ever although they’ve only had real conversations recently, the way they look at each other and giggle silently at the most ridiculous shit I sometimes don’t understand, how her voice drops to a low pitch when she speaks to him. And now, this. She doesn’t even have a proper explanation. Bitch.
7:30am-8:00 pm Work. Shit. Important people pretending to be more important than they really are. Soul-sucking reports. A few extra, not so exciting projects, handed over to me. Thankfully as well, no calls from her
9:00pm-11:00 pm Drinks at a nearby rooftop lounge with a colleague who just joined the company after attending top business school in the U.S. He’s around my age, funny, ambitious. We always have a pretty good time.
6:30am-6:45 am I sit in bed, staring at my blank phone screen. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t wake up to find a cute text wishing me a good day, or a voice note with that voice I love, asking to call when I could, punctuated with “I love you” and variations of heart emojis. Even the bedsheets still smell of her fragrance, some Gucci scent whose name I don't remember even though she's told me a million times, although the last time she came over was maybe a week ago. I read a few e-mails. I read the news. I write a to-do list. And finally, I get out of bed.
8:05am-7:00 pm Same shit, different day.
9:00 pm Alone, in bed. Smelling her still.
6:00am-6:02 am Flirting with a hot coworker who I’m sure has a thing for me via Whatsapp. This one time, I swear she bit her lip in slow motion as she touched my chest and asked where I happen to shop. She often asks me meaningless questions about projects I’ve been working on in a coquettish tone, while looking at me in that way. And yet, she knew I was a committed man. This morning, I initiate the conversation by asking if she happens to know the whereabouts of another colleague of ours, who I know is in Dubai but whatever. The things I would do for beautiful women with nice tits.
8:00am-1:00 pm Working, focused. Nothing new.
1:15 pm Sexy Coworker and I cross paths, but she pretends not notice my existence despite our exchanges of virtual smiley faces in the morning. Her sultry perfume turns me on as fuck. I realise she reminds me of this one girl I screwed a few times in Uni. They both have a dimple on their left cheek and wide, brown eyes. The things I want to do while staring into those eyes…
2:00 pm My (now former?) girlfriend texts to say that she thinks I’ve had “enough space,” that she can’t live without me, and that she absolutely must explain herself in person. I read the message and don’t respond.
2:30 pm Actually, no. I need closure with that bitch. I write back and say that I loved her too. I make sure that the “loved” is italicized. I also type that there’s no reason for her to do that, because I can’t tolerate negligible explanations. We can be friends. Okay, I’m just saying that to be polite. It feels good to hurt her a little like that.
7:00 pm I leave the office feeling desolate and empty, although it has been a productive day. I’m not sure why I have these moods lately.
10:00 pm As I wrap a towel around my waist after taking a shower, I hear the doorbell ring. I run my fingers through my hair, brushing my Ted Voss conditioner through to make it nice and shiny. The doorbell rings again. My hair only partly moisturized, I walk down the hall barefoot.
I turn the front door open to find the very woman who had betrayed me, flattering her toned, dark arms in a stunning sleeveless dress, her eyes puffy and her face pale. I am an angered as hell. That bitch. She tries to hug me and I stand there motionless, before I begin running my fingers through her soft hair. She made me feel so good, once. Damn I’ll miss her…
10:30pm-11:45 pm We have the most passionate lovemaking session we’ve ever shared, alternating between missionary on the floor near the door just as it slams while her clothes are still on, missionary on the couch later, and her riding me on top in so many angles I didn’t know could give me such a high.
1:00 am We fall asleep next to each other, spooning. I can’t help but think why she would do this. I know it's over. I'll end it when she wakes up. Maybe I shouldn't have slept with her, but I've never felt the way she makes me feel with anyone else, I need that warmth. But I also need an explanation, like now.